What will ever become of faulty Ida Mayhew? The worm-eaten emblem
is true of me still."
Then, as if whispered to her by some good angel, the words Mr.
Eltinge had spoken recurred to her. "Your Saviour will be as tender
and patient with you as a mother with her baby that is learning to
walk."
"Oh," she cried, in a low, passionate tone, "that is the kind of
a God I need!"
She also remembered the reassuring words that Mr. Eltinge had
quoted--"As one whom his mother comforteth so will I comfort you,"
and the promise was made good to her.
"Stanton," said Van Berg, a little abruptly, before they parted
that evening, "I fear, from your cousin's appearance, she was ill
when she left the parlor."
"I've given up trying to understand Ida. When she came down with
her mother, she looked like an incensed goddess, and when she
returned she reminded me of the fading white lily she wore in her
hair. I give it up," concluded Stanton, whose language had become
a trifle figurative and poetic of late.
"I don't," muttered the artist, after smoking the third consecutive
cigar in solitude.
Chapter XLVII. The Concert Garden Again.
Van Berg had scarcely ever known a day to pass more slowly and
heavily than Monday.
Pages:
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573